Monster
by Joel182
Summary: "He'll be a lot safer in the arms of his monster."     JeriBourne after Fatal Fourway.


**I'm back! YAY! And school starts tomorrow. BOOO! **

**Enjoy. :D**

* * *

The bell rung. The crowd burst into cheers. I left before he could see me.

Despite the way I was clutching my ribs and jaw, after just five minutes of rest it's concluded that my injuries are minor. The trainer patches me up and leaves. Next to me is a door that I open and cautiously step just a few inches into the room. It doesn't take long before I spot him sitting on the small bed. His broad back – slightly reddened from the effects of my Air Bourne – is turned facing me. The large welts forming beneath the sea of red look like slash wounds made by the claws of a monster. Tonight, that monster was me.

"Good match tonight Evan." A voice calls from behind with a pat on the back to add. It catches my attention. It's Cena with a bright smile. "You showed everyone out there that you can hang with the big guys."

"T-Thanks." My tone is uncertain. To get praised by John Cena is mind blowing for any young superstar. However, the fact that Chris is sitting less than a few centimetres away from listening range is enough to strangle me. "Don't mention it." /Please./

He chuckles lightly. "I better watch out from now on." His eyes drop to the belt around his waist and then rise back up to me. "The next person you pin could be me. With this title on the line."

"Don't count on it." I turn and look at Chris. His back still coldly faces me.

John looks over at him before landing placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. It regains my attention. "Don't think about what Chris said and did out in that ring. Trust me, he does that to everybody and he never means it."

"Yeah, but," My eyes wander over weakly to Chris. Somehow –even though he's a few centimetres away – the distance seems incalculable. "I'm not supposed to be everybody."

Cena sighs softly. "Don't worry about it Evan." He lands another sharp pat on my back. "See ya around short stuff."

With that said the Champ disappears from my line of sight that is now focused on Chris' back. The trainer sitting ahead of him mumbles some repetitive instructions and I can almost feel the 'I-know-that-already' look blazing from Chris' baby blues. It brings a shaky smile. /Maybe he's alright/ crosses my mind.

"Um..." I step further into the room alerting the attention of the trainer. He glances at me then at Chris. Chris doesn't so much as turn slightly to show any signs of acknowledging my presence. "Chris, are you -"

"Anyone who isn't Evan, leave now." His voice is hoarse and deep. I've heard it before. And it's just as scary.

Without so much as a why, everyone excluding myself – sick, injured or helping – leave the room. When the final person leaves, the door closes shut and it dawns on me that I am all alone in this room with none other than Chris Jericho. And our situation now had been brewing for months.

My debut on RAW was nothing short of uneventful. There was no impact simply because my debut was merely a pawn in the bigger picture that was Randy Orton's current storyline. To many other wrestlers a debut like mine would have been the beginning of the end for them; however for me just getting onto the flagship show was more than enough. To have my name added to the RAW roster was all I wanted.

Unfortunately Chris did not see it that way. For starters, I wasn't on Smack Down with him for a majority of months, and to make matters worse, I wasn't being recognized on RAW even though I had fan base equal if not greater than a majority of baby-faces. He constantly complained about the way I was being used as a scapegoat for other wrestlers, and I believe his last straw came when I got bombarded by Sheamus. The same Sheamus who in less than one year become WWE Champion by beating none other than John Cena. After that moment, Chris became obsessed with getting me involved in a storyline that involved a major superstar. I tried to talk him out of it but I soon learned that no matter who you are to Chris Jericho, he wasn't going to listen. After the Draft, Chris was back on the flagship show and from there he moved his chess pieces forward.

Enter one month ago. After facing his former tag team member at Extreme Rules, and not having anything to do with Over The Limit, Chris and I got to spend some well needed quality time together. It was while we were staying at his cabin in Canada that the love of my life decided to break some "terrific" news to me. He and I were going to be in a feud together. And it was a feud that I would be winning a lot in. To say I didn't take much to the idea would be an understatement. I was happy to be feuding with Chris because the idea of locking up with him right there in the ring, but still keeping it professional was temptingly favourable. However, my reason for being happy was also my reason for hating the idea. I did not want to feud with Chris, simply because I knew I'd have to hurt him and he's have to hurt me. And to have me win against him was the factor that really pushed against the idea. I didn't want to hurt him and then get cheered for it.

Naturally, my fears fell on deaf ears as Chris had already engrossed himself so deep into the idea, that it would have been heartbreaking had I gone and flushed his efforts down the drain. With that in mind, I agreed with him.

That was indeed the biggest mistake of my life. It even towered the time I took on a dare and ate a blowfish cooked by Mark Calaway.

Fatal Fourway had come and saw me pinning the almighty Chris Jericho. To me, the victory was anything but sweet. It was horribly bitter. I hurt Chris on live television and got cheered for it. No scolding. No hateful looks. Instead, I was given a bunch of useless congrats and wide smiles.

"Evan," After a long and silent pause, Chris finally spoke. "Congratulations."

That wasn't what I wanted to hear. Of all things Chris could have said now, a simple 'congratulations' was not what he should have voiced.

"Congratulations?" I asked rather mimic ally. "For what? Is it for that beautiful Air Bourne I hit? Is it for the miraculous pin I made afterwards? Or could it possibly be for those wonderfully executed kicks I gave you?" I was getting angry and I couldn't stop myself. "I don't want to hear that! I shouldn't be congratulated I should be -"

"You deserve the praise Evan." His back still faces me ardently. My feet are still rooted to the ground behind. "You've worked as hard, if not harder than anyone else. You've kindly sat on the sidelines watching filth like Sheamus, and money-trees like DiBiase take center stage just because they rake in the dough."

"I was happy with that!" It's hard to explain why I suddenly feel a ball welling up in my throat, or why my vision's getting blurry. However, I can say it might be mostly due to the fact that Chris sounds indignant. And that lonely back projects a look of hurt. "I didn't want this stupid feud! I didn't want to go out there and hurt you and have you hurt me and then get cheered for it!"

"To get to the top you have to learn to live with that." His voice is stern, and his aura distant. I feel like a stranger in a room. Or a sinner in the presence of a god. "There will come a time when you'll have to do more than just pin me. A time when our match may never end until one of us can't move."

"Don't say that!" I shriek loudly. Somehow it feels as though that's what it's going to take for Chris to hear me. A few loud cries. "If that's what it'll take to get to the top then I don't want to go there! I can't do it!"

"Evan, don't you dare say that to me!" His exposed muscles tense as his voice roars above mine. "Don't you dare put yourself down like that! Not for anyone's sake and least of all not for mine!"Instantly, his voice is returned to a low and deep tone that's closer to a growl. "You're special Evan and you deserve so much better than this!" He swallows loudly. "Than...me."

/What?/ Maybe I'm over thinking. Maybe I misheard. To solidify my reasoning, I step closer to Chris. I peer over his shoulder as the distance between us lessens, and upon spotting me, he turns sharply away.

"What are you talking about Chris?" My voice strides on hesitation. Chris remains silent, so I step closer stopping once I stand directly ahead of his bowed head. "Chris, what did you mean by that?" I question his blond covered scalp. "Chris?"

In a strike faster than lightning, Chris suddenly has me wrapped in his arms and his head is welded to my chest. His touch is so warm it could melt Antarctica. I mold right into his arms with ease. Compared to the Walls Of Jericho, I much prefer this hold. His breathing suddenly intensifies, and staggers on the exhale. I can feel his face being buried deep into my aching sternum, as his arms tighten around the waist and back. It hurts, but I clench my injured jaw to the pain.

"I'm sorry." He mumbles beneath a heated breath. His mouth is so close to my skin that I can feel the letters forming the words that escape his lips. "I'm so sorry."

I had often heard that humility came along when a man who proclaimed himself immortal bled when someone cut him with a blade. Maybe Chris was feeling that sort of humility was what first crossed my mind. However, as he squeezed me tighter and further buried himself into the crevice of my chest, I knew this was more than simple humility. Chris was truly suffering from something far beyond the reaches of physical pain.

"It's okay." For fear that he would break, I choose to hold him with less force than the one behind his own clutches. "I know you didn't mean anything you said or did out there. I didn't either."

"I just felt..." He trails off momentarily. "I just felt that if I didn't show you what I was capable off then you'd think of me as some old broken down piece of...junk."

/What?/ I calm my mind before it voices the thoughts suddenly screaming through my head, because right now Chris needed an adult who thinks before he acts and not a child who did the complete opposite. "I never, ever thought that way Chris. I could never think that." Naturally, the child in me won the battle for dominance. "What made you think something like that?"

"I have eyes Evan so I'm well aware of what separates us." His response is blatant and clearly heard despite his face still being buried in my torso. "And what separates us is the fact that I'm thirteen years your senior. I've lived an entire decade of your life. I can't do most of the things you and your friends can do. Hell, just a few weeks ago I couldn't even stay up past ten. I honestly thought you'd be better off with someone younger. Someone who could live your life with you, rather than die off halfway."

With a piercing pain, a shower of sharp blades is driven deep into the muscles of my heart. And the thrower is twisting them. I always thought that Chris was the one I would spend the rest of my life with. And despite the way he was thinking, that thought has yet to change.

"But when I look at you," His cool tone slides in riddled with nicks of stabbing hurt "I can't imagine life without you. I can't imagine you gone." He sighs heavily letting the warm air kiss the skin of my chest. It feels a lot nicer than the scalding breaths that washed over me when he beat me down in the corner of that ring. "So I got desperate. It's true that pushed for this feud to give you a proper head start in this profession, but I also did it so that I could mean more to you. I didn't want you to see me the way I saw me." His voice dips lower. "And that thought almost cost me the very thing I was trying to protect."

Once again we are trapped in the web of utter silence. Chris continues to hold onto me for dear life, and I continue to gingerly wrap him to me. I should say something at this juncture, but in all honesty I can't. To me Chris Jericho is the epitome of something that man has desired since the dawn of time. And that is sheer perfection. To hear him demean himself in such a way shatters that vision. Now he has clambered down the ladder and stumbled on the rung of mere human. Oddly enough, it's that realization that gives me the sudden courage to talk.

"Chris, I love you. That's not a feeling I can just switch off, because to me you're irreplaceable. There is no better out there for me because you're the best." I pause to let it all sink in mostly into my head more than in Chris'. Words like this never formed these kinds of sentences for me so the element of absolute surprise is most definitely here. "About the feud... you're right. If I want to get to the top I have to learn how to land a punch on my lover and be able to walk away."

He scoffs gently. It's a sign that the old Chris has returned. "I thought you didn't want to get to the top."

"I don't. But it's where you are, so I have to." A small smile sits on my face. I can feel the muscles' tugging away as the smile broadens. "Plus, I can't have you thinking that I'm just some kid who doesn't know anything. If I don't grow up soon, I'll never close that thirteen year gap." I drop my right cheek onto his board shoulder allowing my eyes to fall to the left. My voice softens to a whisper. "And if I don't do that, how else am I going to be able to spend the rest of my life with you?"

Chris doesn't reply or so much as utter a sound of acknowledgment. The only thing I can rely on as some sort of telltale sign is that small wave of relief that suddenly washes over his body. It's all that tells me that Chris is settled even by a tiny bit, and in return it eases my mind. My thoughts trail a bit allowing the sounds of Fatal Fourway to dissipate leaving my ears to indulge in the soft sounds escaping Chris' slow-moving lungs. At this very moment, the entire world can go on tonight, or it can stop all together. None of these issues are of concern to me, because the steady beats of Chris' heart tells me that – despite us previously hurting one another – he is most definitely going to be a lot safer in the arms of his monster.


End file.
